Boil the Full Kettle
by Den Lille Havfrue
Summary: Mathias was apparently trying to make some sort of friendly gesture, though the one at the doorway seemed unable to respond, and let his twin take over. Oh, he was too busy staring at the 'other one'. - Original contest piece; set in uncertain time frame!AU, probably 1300s. Rated T for mentions of violence.


A man with cerulean eyes watched them walk down the much-trodden path, freshly laden with the falling snow.

_Lullaby, boil the full kettle,_

_Three travelers are coming down the path_

_Lullaby, boil the full kettle,_

_Three travelers are coming down the path_

There was an air about them, the young man noted. He stared out of the cloudy window, blinking and looking around curiously with the manner of a child. He rubbed yet another circle onto the glass, feeling the condensation dampen his cream-colored, scratchy linen sleeve. His violet-eyed twin appeared next to him a moment later, a blurry backdrop against the flickering oranges and black-tipped flame in the hearth. Their familiar, stained brown wooden cabin suddenly had the feeling of something...off. It never felt like this. It must have been the fault of the trio slowly making their way to the warm-looking home with black smoke churning and tunneling its way into the outside world; which was dark and bleary, with black trees and dark skies lining the forest, and the slight purple patches of mountains in the distance.

_The first one is limping,_

_The second, oh so blind,_

_The third one doesn't say anything._

The moment he opened the door, he was hit by a sense of awareness as well as the biting ice-wind that hailed from the north. They received travelers often. Indeed, they had even watched some perish on the edge of the woods, and they were unable to do anything except let nature take back what it once had. Sometimes, the travelers would pass them right by, continuing upon their path. That was when the duo prayed. They prayed for the safe journey and return of those who went past without greeting. These three seemed 'different', though. They did not appear in need of help, as the tall stranger in the lead seemed to be used to walking with that limp that no doubt caused his odd gait. The second stranger was closely accompanied by a considerably shorter one, and this is the one that the young man could not help but notice.

He swore he could almost hear the eldest's large grin, the blond man thought. The leader had said his name was Mathias, and he hailed from the Kingdom of Denmark. The other two (he had been informed) were from Sweden and Norway. That was a very long way to have come. The bright-eyed young man rapidly consulted his memory of the map that hung in the desk room, figuring that they must have come some way by ship...though they all looked world-weary (the second especially), perhaps they had come much farther than that. Maybe they hit the lower continent before landing in this place. Mathias was apparently trying to make some sort of friendly gesture, though the one at the doorway seemed unable to respond, and let his twin take over. Oh, he was too busy staring at the _other one_. The final wanderer was nothing short of ethereal, with almost porcelain features that seemed flawless in any way; the young man tried his best to count the individual snowflakes dotting the other's eyelashes, but failed in doing so as the mysterious man brushed past him and into the house after his comrades, removing a bulky fur coat (that was much too large) and hanging it on the gnarled coat tree with his companion's jackets.

He heard his beloved twin, Matthew, ask the others if they wished to stay the night. It was greeted by a hearty 'Ja!' from the tall limping one, and a grunt of approval from the even taller one who seemed to have sight issues. He took a moment to wonder why the _other one _never said anything. An electric shock ran through him as the living, breathing mystery connected orbs. They stared at each for a long moment. The host excused himself, quickly going to the kitchen under his twin's request.

Too caught up in his own thoughts, he barely heard the 'Alfred!' that was hissed at him. He gave the other a look that clearly said 'oh please, like you aren't completely interested in the cheery Danish guy'. He smirked at the hardly see-able blush that graced Matthew's face; only unseeable due to the kitchen being rather far from the fire, which was currently the single light source that was active in the house. The two lived alone, silently, and as a result, they could tell everything about the other at a glance. The Dane was easily readable too...the Swede might take a bit of prying, but he seemed open enough. But the _other one_-the _other one _looked as though he would rather be attacked by a nestful of hornets than have to reveal a single, solitary thing about himself. It was this certain man's goal to break that.

After some coffee had been served from the copper kettle in the kitchen, Matthew had retired to his bedroom and the Scandinavian travelers (he had found out from Berwald, the Swede, that they were traders, mostly working in fur and dry goods) were making themselves comfortable on the couches. The _other one_, of course, was not. The _other one_ was curled up on the ground in a tight ball, hugging his knees to his chest as his back faced the fire. He connected eyes with the Norwegian again. He still hadn't learned the name of that one-...after staring for a moment, he blinked, shook his head and offered the ancient (but still working) rocking chair to the porcelain-featured nomad. The other shook his head, returning to his safety ball on the ground.

It had been a few long days, in which the charismatic man with the sparkling blue eyes had become absolutely infatuated with the one who never spoke. He seemed to have learned everything about the _other one _(the _other one_ seemed to trust him; that made the blond get a warm and happy feeling in his chest), but he still knew nothing, nothing at all. The time was quickly approaching, Berwald had said, for them to be going. They had fur to trade and countries to return to. And it was that day that the young man found himself shuddering and trying to look away as he'd spotted what he'd never noticed before. A small, box-shaped scar on the _other one_'s neck, right over where the larnyx would have been. It made sense now, why the other never made even the slightest noise. Though really, it should have crossed his mind before that the _other one_ was mute. He had noticed the Norse traveler signing to the others, in a way that this host could honestly report he'd never seen the likes of. After having studied it for a while over the days and discussing it with Matthew, they came to the conclusion that the peculiar 'sign language' was based mostly off of sound; verbal tics, guttural noises, et cetera. They tried to recreate it somehow, finding themselves having immense difficulty in doing so. Thinking upon that, the sky-eyed man realized that'd he known all along that the Norwegian was mute. It simply came as a shock, again, to see this notion so clearly put out in front of him-and he hadn't noticed it.

The last four days had been filled with learning of new cultures; songs and food, old folk tales and ancient knowledge passed through the ages. It absolutely fascinated both of the twins who ran the house. The Norwegian, of course, never attempted to contribute anything. The blond man couldn't help but think that the painfully shy tradesman could contribute if he wanted to-but alas, the _other one_ seemed to view life and the things in it with disinterest. If only they didn't have to go so soon...then the blue-eyed cabin owner would show the other many different things to celebrate in this life.

The night that the Nordic traders decide to leave, it was once again cloudy outside. But he notices that three stars shine brightly through the din, undying and unflickering in the stark and silent night. He notices the long, loping gait that takes the tall and intimidating one out of the wooden door first, and then the choppy-moving jog that precedes the Dane who exits, laughing all the while. But immediately, his attention is taken with the last one to leave-(forever the last one to leave)-who walks with such precision and such care that never a sound is made when he moves; not even the shuffling of fabric or the compact, compressed sound of crunching snow. Noticing and recalling the vision of the large sled of furs out of his peripheral vision, this young man took the last moments to examine the _other one_, memorizing every detail, every shaded bang and every hooded glance in those deep orbs. Suddenly, there was a flash in the _other one_'s eyes; a single glance of recognition towards the curious blond, a look of familiarity. The young man standing in the doorway feels his heart beat strongly, rapidly, loudly, so fast that he was positive everyone within a 20-mile radius could hear his emotions pumping with the force of a full-banked river. Just how was it that a single look could drive him mad, a small ghost of a smile could make him wish to please the other more, wish to make a fool out of himself just to prove that nagging feeling in his heart and gut? He knew nothing of this stranger, and already he was far gone with obsession! But then the _other one_ broke gazes and turned to disappear into the winding, falling snow after his companions.

_Lullaby, boil the full kettle,_

_It's so cold in the winter when they're traveling._

_Lullaby, boil the full kettle,_

_Three stars are shining through the forest._

It was several weeks before the trio had returned, as Mathias had promised they would.

He found himself gazing upon the spectacle, feeling rooted to the ground with a stronge urge to flee the scene and never think of it again. Even his twin, Matthew, was standing there with utter shock, jaw dropped and furious tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He heard the surprisingly loud noise his brother made, one of aghast horror and agony. The two tall ones were splayed upon the ground (front-ways up), unmoving and obviously no longer containing the breath of life. The _other one_...the _other one_ was...no. It could not be. The honestly terrified, self-proclaimed 'hero' walked up slowly to the downed man, who's perfect eyes were now frozen shut, and who's neck was now stained with flecks and deep puddles of crimson tides (yet he still looked so unchanged and flawless; the cabin's half-owner found himself to be shuddering again with loss and hatred of both himself and whatever did this to that perfect man). Another feeling came to join the original two that already had taken residence in his stomach; the first one being that caring he'd become accustomed to when thinking of the Nordic stranger, the second was the immediate rush that had risen to his throat when his brother started shaking and shivering in the doorway, and the third...the third was that sick feeling, like he could have prevented what had come to pass. He gently stroked the _other one_'s neck and found it to have retained a little warmth still-(always the last one to leave). After feeling numbed by realization, he slowly crawled over to his brother, who was sitting stoically over the form of the tall Danish man, looking around blankly. They were used to this. This happened often; about 25% of the travelers who came their way died some ways along the path back to the cabin-though the more usual occurence was that they died a few feet away from it. The taller, older cabin's host rubbed his younger brother's back in a soothing way, trying to act like him and not let his emotions get in the way of what now needed to be done. He whispered a question in Matthew's ear, asking which one of them would enter 'the room' and get what was supposed to be gotten. The younger one sniffed slightly, replying that they both would do it; because after all, they'd both lost someone close to them, and the odd one out was as close as a dear friend. The older quietly consented, slowly rising to a standing position and offering a hand to his brother, who took it and led him inside.

_The first is our calm_

_The second, our dream_

_The third is a boat that we sit in together._

The air was calm and misty as he carefully gave the bow of the rowboat a small shove, which sent it slowly gliding down the lazy and cold river. He was kneeling on the damp and squishy bog, getting his brown pants' kneecaps wet, his white socks stained by the greenery of the swampish area and the tips of his brown leather shoes were getting slightly moist. The one stubborn blond cowlick moved slightly with a sudden breeze, which brought with it a slight humming note on an unknown pitch. Tilting his head, he copied it, convinced he heard the air creating harmonies around it. He smiled slightly, humming a simple tune while watching the brown boat with the three coffins disappear, the three travelers going with it. The entire scene felt exactly like a dream he'd once had-perchance, he'd known the _other one_ in a life before this one. Hearing the wind whisper, he lightly sang to himself, seeing the last of the boat going out of sight, but keeping the ethereal image of the third wanderer open in his mind.

"_Lullaby, boil the full kettle,_

_All alone in the world you are searching._

_Lullaby, boil the full kettle,_

_I will take care of you on the trip._

_I hold you so close_

_And warm you up lovingly _

_I promise to always come with you."_

It then occurred to him.

He still did not know the traveler's name.


End file.
